After leaving Hong Tianzheng's command tent, Meng Zhao carried the Heavenly Evil Battle Casket on his back and, accompanied by several guards, headed for the camp where the Danchi warriors were stationed. He still had some matters to explain to Ji Rulin.
Time was tight. In a few days, he would return to Lingwu City to hold the fort, lest Dragon City receive the news and stir up trouble.
Moreover, the Pudu Cult remained a hidden danger. He had no peace of mind and had to stay vigilant.
Yet just as Meng Zhao had walked less than ten meters from Hong Tianzheng's military camp, under the faintly flickering firelight in the darkness, a murky gray sword qi suddenly appeared and slashed at his back. Accompanying it was an unmistakably strong scent of blood.
The sword qi had come far too suddenly. Its Killing Aura had been concealed so thoroughly that even someone as monstrously powerful as Meng Zhao had not sensed the slightest thing.
It was truly, truly inconceivable.
This assassin's skill at concealing his aura was simply miraculous.
As for this sword qi, how should it be described? It was not particularly dazzling, domineering, or fierce—not the sort that announced at a glance its peerless might, its ability to cut through anything and resist nothing.
Instead, it carried a restrained sharpness, as well as a terrifying power to destroy all things, slaughter all things, and plunder vitality.
Like a mute man's ruthlessness: silent and unassuming, yet brutally formidable.
The one who had unleashed the sword qi was one of the accompanying guards. At the instant he struck, he somehow used an evil method to turn the other several utterly unprepared guards into bloody pulp, absorbing the essence of their flesh and blood to amplify the power of his sword